


Requiem

by whalefairyfandom12



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Unreliable Narrator, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12
Summary: After suffering a career ending injury grief manifests into depression and Viktor moves to Detroit to start over. Detroit is one of the last places he'd thought he'd end up, but if different is what he wants it's as good a city as any. It isn't until he meets Katsuki Yuuri that he learns to live again, but Yuuri is hiding secrets of his own and Detroit isn't quite the escape Viktor thought it would be. As it turns out, falling in love is the easy part.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slightlied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlied/gifts).



   Viktor Nikiforov falls in love with a ghost. He doesn’t mean to, but the city is full of them and it’s impossible not to.

    Viktor Nikiforov falls in love with a ghost and Katsuki Yuuri hates pistachio ice cream. This, at least, is a rational conclusion, because pistachio ice cream is both disgusting and the ‘in flavor’ of the season. He’s stared at it so much he’s started to hate the color, too, which is unfortunate because he used to like green.

    His roommate, Phichit, is a photographer, and between his photo shoots and the pistachio ice cream they pay the rent a day late. Their landlord never says anything, but the heating always shuts off a day early and he never seems in a hurry to fix it.

    Every Friday they rent a film from the library around the corner. This is their version of a night out because they’re graduates with shiny new diplomas and even shinier debt. If they’re feeling really adventurous Yuuri will let himself be dragged to a party or out to the club, but most of the time they settle for cheesy rom coms, cheap food, and even cheaper alcohol. Phichit fixes the popcorn (extra butter) while he mixes it with their candy of choice (milk duds,) and it's enough.

    While simple, these are the facts of Yuuri’s life and complacency is too comfortable to warrant change.

    He turns on the television, step one of movie night before proceeding to step two: send Phichit a reminder to pop the popcorn at work because their microwave is still broken and inform him that no, they're not smuggling a fourth hamster home regardless of how lonely it looks.

    It's a surprisingly nice day, a gentle breeze repelling the curtains and letting the light in. He turns towards the window, sun blinding against the white walls. It’s been awhile since he’s left the house, and while Phichit keeps urging him to get out more Yuuri isn’t feeling particularly motivated one way or another.

     He startles as an unfamiliar car pulls into the driveway, a silver haired man climbing out of drivers seat. Yuuri freezes, mouth dry. In all the time he’s been around he’s seen a lot of beautiful people. But this man looks like he could step onto the red carpet and still outshine everyone there.

    Bright blue eyes flicker up to meet his, followed by a charming smile and a wave. Yuuri chokes, burying his face in his hands like this will somehow hide him from view. He hears the door slam again, and peaks through his fingers to see a teenaged boy stomp towards the apartment. His arms are crossed, hood pulled up and even from two stories up he can hear his shout.

    “What were you waving at?

    “There was someone upstairs.”

    “Whatever. Is this the shithole?” A nod. He scrunches up his nose. “It’s _tiny._ ”

    “It’s not _that_ small,” the driver protests good naturedly. There's an accented lilt to both of their voices Yuuri can't quite place. Russian maybe? “Simon said he would meet us inside.”

     The boy follows him through the door, still bearing an impressive scowl. “I still don’t see why you can’t live at home,” he complains. “Yakov said he didn’t care.”

     The man’s retort is cut off as they disappear from view, footsteps thudding past Yuuri’s apartment. He flattens himself against the chair, though the logical part of him knows they can’t see him anyway. Idly, he wonders if they’re here to view the unit overhead. It’s been a long time since they’ve had new neighbors, and the last couple that moved in only lasted a few months.

    He settles back into his chair and navigates to the main menu of this nights movie, a rewatch of _When Harry Met Sally_. Phichit stands by it as the best Meg Ryan flick but Yuuri is more partial to _Sleepless in Seattle._

    The door swings open with a thump, the roommate in question entering with two freshly buttered bags of popcorn. He begins without any preamble. “There was this one hamster with silvery colored fur and the cutest face--” he pauses. Yuuri gives him a look. “What if we named it Yuuri?” he implores, changing tactics. The look continues. Phichit pouts. “When those hamsters die sad and alone it’s on your conscience.”

     Yuuri shakes his head, lips pressing together in a fond smile. This enthusiasm, whether it’s about hamsters or a new filter on Instagram is one of the reasons why they get along so well. Yuuri tempers Phichit’s unbridled excitement which in turn is a reminder to relax more and that the world isn’t going to fall apart (probably).

    Phichit tears open the popcorn and the box of milk duds, setting them on the coffee table. “You ready?” Yuuri nods, pressing play.

     They fall into the rhythms of movie night, Phichit hogging the popcorn and giving a running commentary through his favorite scenes. Yuuri is content to listen, smiling at some of the funnier jokes and relaxing in the comfort of their routine. And it’s enough.

 

    (It has to be.)

* * *

      A moving truck pulls in the driveway a few days later. The blue eyed man is back, and from the looks of it he’s here to stay. Yuuri tells himself he doesn’t care and definitely doesn’t spend the afternoon watching him lug boxes upstairs, soup forgotten and boiling over on the stove.

    He opens his laptop, swiping through his tabs aimlessly. This time of day is always the worst. It’s just early enough that Phichit isn’t out of work, but he’s already exhausted his to do list for the day and there’s nothing left to occupy his time. The man is the most interesting thing in view, and his eyes keep drifting in his direction despite himself. Phichit would urge him to stop being creepy and to go introduce himself, but he also forgot that on a scale of social competence he was an eleven and Yuuri was a negative ten.

    The man yells something that sounds like “Makkachin!” and one of the cutest poodles Yuuri has ever seen bounds towards him. The man laughs, dropping to his knees and cooing as his hands card through the dog’s curls.

    “Your dog is adorable,” a new voice drawls. Yuuri looks to the left to see Christophe Giacometti leaning against the man’s car, sunglasses lifting with a wink. “Are you the new tenant I’ve heard so much about?”

    The man climbs to his feet, extending his hand. “Good things I hope. I’m Viktor.”

    “Chris. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Chris leans closer, posture confidential though his tone is anything but. _"V_ _ery_ good things, but so far you’ve been quite the mystery man I’m afraid.”

     Viktor inclines his head. “I try to keep a few surprises to myself.”

     Chris smirks. “Oh I’m sure you’re full of surprises. My apartment is across the hall if you ever want to show me some of them.”

    Yuuri suppresses an eyeroll. For as long as he’s lived here Chris has been a shameless flirt, a fact the man’s boyfriend seems to find just as amusing.

    “I’ll keep your offer in mind,” Viktor said. “This is the first time Makkachin and I have been out of New York in some time.” The dog in question whines at his feet, and Chris reaches out tentatively. Viktor nods, and Makkachin rolls over as Chris rubs behind their ears.

    Yuuri’s starting to rethink this whole introduction thing if a free dog petting session is included.

    “Do you want some help carrying boxes?”

    “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

    Chris bends down in an exaggerated motion, arms flexing as he lifts two overflowing boxes with ease. “Lead the way.”

    Yuuri jerks back from the window as Viktor’s eyes flicker his way, landing on the carpet hard. He winces, more from embarrassment than pain, and starts to stand before reconsidering. Better Viktor think it had been a trick of his mind than his neighbor stalking him. He might be socially inept, but even he knows that’s not the way to go about making friends.

* * *

     There’s a weird smell in the air, almost like burning rubber. Yuuri flicks a crumb off the table, scrunching up his nose and trying not to breathe. He has one of Phichit’s candy pop songs stuck in his head, and while he doesn’t have anything _against_ Taylor Swiftnecessarily he doesn’t really know the words so it’s more of a nonsensical hum scratching at his brain.

    He spies another crumb a few inches away and flicks that, too. It lands just a hair beyond the other one. He reaches for another, realizing belatedly he's already relocated them all to the ground. Yuuri sighs, forehead thumping against the table. He’d never thought he’d say this, but he’s starting to miss pistachio ice cream.

* * *

    Phichit has a friend over and Yuuri is hiding in his room wishing he didn’t have ears.

    By this point Seung-Gil is a familiar enough presence. Phichit had met him at a work event and despite the other man’s closed off nature they'd hit it off. Yuuri still isn’t sure whether they’re friends or something more. The last time he'd asked Phichit had told him him the heart works in mysterious ways, so Yuuri usually lets them pursue those ways in peace.

    There’s a knock on his door, his roommate’s voice drifting through. “Yuuri! Seung-Gil and I are heading back to his house. I don’t know what time I’ll be back so don’t wait up, okay?” His footsteps disappear, and he hears the door close a few moments later.

   Yuuri rolls on his back to stare at the ceiling. There’s a lone glow in the dark star still stuck to his light, a gift from Phichit after they’d visited the planetarium last year. He stifles a yawn, reaching for his comforter and pulling it up to his chin. He doubts Phichit will be back anytime soon, the last time he’d gone to Seung-Gil’s he’d stumbled back home the  next morning with his shirt inside out and an even bigger grin than usual.

    Music drifts through the walls, the halting sounds of what he recognizes as a piano arrangement of  _Aria: Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_. It’s one of Yuuri’s favorite pieces and he finds he doesn’t mind the intrusion. The pianist falters before the end of the first verse, and he jerks upright at the unmistakable sound of all the keys being smashed at the same time.

    There’s a moment of silence and the music starts again. It’s beautiful--there’s no denying the clear passion and experience. There's a precision behind each chord that only comes from someone who’s been playing for years and has made the music part of them. But even as the pianist starts for the third time he slips on the melody. There's another crash of the keys, louder this time.

    Yuuri had played  _Stammi Vicino_  at his last recital, and his fingers play along on an invisible keyboard before remembering he has a real one. He pushes the blankets back, plugging in the instrument. He clears his throat nervously, fingers trembling as he rests them on the keys. Carefully he begins to play _Stammi Vicino_ \--or rather what he remembers of the piece. It's far from perfect, nerves and months of neglect causing some of the whole notes to become fermatas as he scrambles to recall the next measure.

    He gives up halfway through, but before he has time to breathe the pianist starts up again, continuing from where he’d left off. It sounds more sure than before, and this time they almost make it to the end before breaking. Luckily, Yuuri does remember how it ends, and he finishes the piece with a sudden, quiet burst of confidence.

    There’s a loud, repeated knocking through the ceiling and if he didn’t know any better he’d say it almost sounded like applause. He pauses. Based on the location of the music and the fact that he's never heard anyone practicing before the pianist has to be Viktor. The dawning recollection makes him deeply uncomfortable for reasons he can’t quite put his finger on, and he turns off the keyboard. The opening notes of _Salut d’Amour_ begin to play, coming to an abrupt end near the second page. The dissonant chord lingers, and Yuuri leaves it unanswered.

* * *

     Viktor practices the piano every evening at nine like clockwork. Typically his sessions only last for half an hour before there’s the now familiar keyboard smash and he gives up. That's usually, but whenever Yuuri joins they often play for well over two hours, tag teaming off each other's weakness and supporting the other's strengths. Yuuri's always been better at the emotions of a piece, and Viktor makes sure they stay in time.

     The second time had been from a morbid curiosity--to see if the first one had been a fluke and what would happen if he tried again. Viktor had responded without hesitation. Something about the intimacy of the moment had been too much, and Yuuri was out the door for the first time in months.

     The third was an accident. Viktor didn’t come home until ten, far later than his routine time. (Not that Yuuri noticed. It’s just, he got bored and there wasn’t anything else to look at it.) He could hear the bang of the door through the ceiling, heavy footsteps crossing to slam what sounded like every cabinet in the apartment.

     He started playing the piano a few minutes later but his playing was more disjointed than usual. His following slip up was followed by the crash of something shattering. Yuuri swallowed, picking his way towards the piano and turning it on. He started playing the piece Viktor had been working on, _Liebestraum No. 3_. _Liebestraum_ was one of the pieces he’d been learning before he quit playing, and as such it was one of his weaker attempts thus far.

    It had taken Viktor longer to join in that time, but by the end things had stopped breaking.

    Now their duets have become a tradition of sorts, and Yuuri would be lying if he said it wasn’t his favorite part of the day. Viktor still knocks on the floor after they play and Yuuri still ignores him, and everything’s good.

* * *

     It’s three in the morning and Yuuri can’t sleep. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the blank walls. He’d taken his posters down when he and Phichit signed the lease on the new apartment, and he hasn't bothered putting them back up yet. Maybe he’ll do that tomorrow.

     He drifts towards the window, opening the curtains to see Chris and Masumi walking downtown. Their hands are linked, leaning towards each other and laughing. Yuuri forces down the unexpected longing. He’s long since resigned himself to the knowledge that while some people might be cut out for relationships he's definitely not one of them.

      He distracts himself by plugging in his headphones and hitting play. He’d looked up _Viktor pianist New York_ one night out of curiosity and found video after video of him playing at venues across the world. He opens Viktor’s performance of _Stammi Vicino_ from 2012, turning up the volume. Though he hasn't been a proper musician in years he’s still a casual listener, and he can freely admit that the other man is one of the best he’s heard. He finally has a last name too--Nikiforov. In the video he can see the man’s features more clearly; his silver hair and blue eyes accompanied by a charming smile. The recordings lack any of the hesitations he’s heard from Viktor's playing now, but Yuuri can understand pressure crippling passion more than anyone.

    There’d also been an article about a career ending injury, but he’d clicked away before he could finish. It seemed wrong somehow, intrusive almost to see something so personal secondhand.

    Yuuri closes his eyes, listening to the music and the steady cadence of Phichit’s breathing. He never thought he’d say this but he’s _bored._ When he's feeling like this he misses Vicchan even more, which in turn makes his mood worse. Sometimes he regrets coming to America. If he'd been able to know everything Detroit would cost he might've made a different decision. Maybe he still would've ended up in the same place, but at least he could've seen Vicchan one last time. 

* * *

     Phichit is in an unusually good mood and Yuuri is suspicious. Granted Phichit is almost always in a good mood, but even for him he seems strangely upbeat. He’s humming under his breath as  _A New Hope_ plays in the background, hamster resting on his shoulder. Yuuri tears his eyes away from his dancing form long enough to drag the blanket further to the left and tuck it under his old textbooks.

    Phichit dramatically mimes being shot by a stormtrooper, adding the umbrella stand to their fort on his way down. He catches Yuuri’s bemused smile, pausing. “What?”

    “You’re very happy today.”

    He swings an arm over the back of the couch, sending their canopy wobbling. “Today is a wonderful day.”

    “Why?”

    “It’s always a wonderful day, Yuuri, but today is even better because Seung-Gil and I are going on our first date!”

    Yuuri frowns. “Weren’t you already?”

    “First _official_ date,” he corrects. He wiggles an eyebrow. “ _And_ I heard you playing the piano last night. How come you never play for me? You should let me listen to one of your _duets_ sometime.”

    It takes a surprising amount of effort not to choke on his own spit. “What? I don’t--there’s no--congratulations on your date.”

    Phichit has that mischievous gleam to his expression that only comes from an insane idea. “We’re going to a party at JJ's tonight and I heard our mystery neighbor is going to be there. You should come.” Yuuri shakes his head. “Come on. It’d be the perfect chance to say hello.”

    Yuuri presses his lips together, shaking his head again more adamantly. Maybe he likes their relationship the way it is, nonexistent. The sad part is, it’s still the closest thing to human contact he’s had besides Phichit in the last few years, and the last thing he wants to do is screw it up.

     “Suit yourself.” Phichit shrugs, placing the hamster on top of the fort. “You know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”  Yuuri knows he won’t, but he nods anyway.

* * *

    For once, Yuuri starts playing first. He’s starting to get more into the piano again, inching his way through _Sibelius Valse Triste_. It doesn't sound quite the same as with a full orchestra, but he’s always liked songs in ¾ time. 

    The keys clash as he leans against the piano, pen inking over the fingering. His piano teacher had always hated people that drew on sheet music with pen, but he can’t find a pencil and no one has to know. He rests the pen on the stand, right hand picking out the first line. His left foot taps against the floor, counting. Phichit insists that he never minds, but Yuuri always feels badly about making him listen to the same three chords over and over again.

    On his third attempt the left hand joins in from upstairs. Yuuri smiles, pushing through to the second line. Viktor’s left hand is steady, keeping time perfectly as they continue. It sounds surprisingly nice--until Yuuri’s thumb slips and he hits an f natural instead of a sharp. He doesn’t have time bury himself in a hole because Viktor takes over the right hand and resumes playing. It’s takes Yuuri a few measures before he’s able to recover, finding the left hand and finishing the first page.

    Viktor fumbles on the melody, and in silent agreement they switch parts again. Yuuri’s never been good at talking to people, but their unspoken communications are seamless. He's never been a natural at anything, especially when it came to people. Until now. 

    Per usual Viktor knocks on the floor after they finish. This time, Yuuri knocks back.

* * *

     Yuuri will never admit it, but he kinds of regrets not going to the party.

    The entire evening he can hear laughter from across the hall, music shaking the floor and shouts for more shots. Yuuri burrows under the fort in the living room, closing his eyes and pretending he’s there instead. 

    Phichit stumbles home well past midnight, gait uneven and smile bright. “The party was great!” He laughs, collapsing against the door as it closes. Yuuri jumps to his feet and helps him to the fort, pulling off his shoes. “Did you know that Seung-Gil’s favorite animal is a parrot? He has a whole _bookshelf_ about them.”

    “Did he already leave?” 

    Phichit curls under the blankets, wistful sigh escaping his lips. “He has work tomorrow.” His head turns to face Yuuri, dark eyes suddenly serious. “He’s the _best_ kisser. You wouldn’t know it, but he’s very passionate.”

    “Too much information,” Yuuri says, making a face because there are certain positions he never wants to think about his best friend in.

     “I think,” Phichit’s words are slow, each syllable carefully mulled over. “I think I’m in love.” He yawns. “Did you know he still has the stuffed dog his parents gave him as a baby? He named her Milky. He sleeps with her sometimes.”

    “Are you sure Seung-Gil doesn’t mind you telling me all this?”

    The man yawns again, eyelids fluttering shut. “No. he loves me too. I hope he does, anyway.”

    Yuuri smiles past the sudden lump in his throat. “I think he does.”

    “Hmm.” Phichit rolls onto his back, sound asleep a few moments later.

    Yuuri lies back down beside him, suddenly wide awake. He wonders how long it’ll be before Phichit moves out. Knowing his roommate he’ll say never, but just because Yuuri isn’t relationship material doesn’t mean he wants to hold Phichit back. If _he_ gets tired of the monotony of their routine he can’t imagine how Phichit feels, especially now that he has a boyfriend he could be spending time with instead.

    

    Because Yuuri won’t admit it, but sometimes he thinks this isn’t enough either.

* * *

       “Yuuri?” Yuuri shields his eyes from the sudden light. Phichit leans through his doorway, dropping something on his desk. “I forgot to give this to you last night but it’s from Viktor. He said you two have been talking?” The question in his voice is clear, but Yuuri is mature and pretends he’s fallen asleep. The other man shakes his head, the motion exasperatedly fond. “I’ll see you for movie night tonight."

    Yuuri wakes up long enough to say goodbye before pulling the blankets over his head.

    He waits until Phichit is in the parking lot before climbing out of bed and reaching for the napkin. He enters Viktor’s number carefully, chewing on his lower lip. Their piano conversations work fine, but whatever passing interest Viktor has in him will disappear as soon as they start talking. He starts to close the message before pausing. Is it more rude not to text at all? Phichit had said Viktor was waiting for a reply, and if Yuuri didn’t respond maybe he'd interpret it as disinterest.

[09:00] **_hi viktor. phichit gave me your number_ **

     He hits send before he has time to change his mind, regretting it immediately.

[09:01] **_this is yuuri btw_ **

[09:01] _hi yuuri!! it’s nice to meet you_ (o^▽^o) _i’m sorry if my playing has been too disruptive i’ll try to practice earlier in the day_

[9:01] **_i don’t mind!_**

[09:02] _how long have you been playing?_

[09:02] **_ten years_ **

[09:02] _twenty four, i used to be a pianist. what do you do?_

    He hesitates, fingers lingering over the keyboard. Here’s the thing: Yuuri hasn’t been to work in over a month and a new job isn’t possible for the foreseeable future. Explaining that, however, is more that he wants to get into.

[09:04] **_i’m between jobs but i used to work at the ice cream shop_ **

[09:04] _what do you want to do?_

[09:04] **_i have a degree in dance, you?_**

[09:04] _i used to think about teaching but i don’t know now. you should teach me sometime (_ ´ ♡ ⁾⁾⁾ )

[09:05] **_i’m not very good_ **

[09:05] _i don’t think that’s true_

    Yuuri flushes, fighting a smile.

[09:05] **_how do you like the apartment?_ **

[09:05] _good so far! but i do have a question. is chris always this friendly?_

[09:06] **_more_ **

There’s a crash from outside, and Yuuri looks out the window to see the blond teenager scowling at a tipped over trash can. Makakchin is wagging their tail, barking happily despite the glower leveled her way.

    “Viktor!” he roars. “Your stupid dog ran into the bin!”

    Viktor emerges a few seconds later with his jacket half buttoned. He skids to a stop in front of Makkachin, dropping to his knees and squishing their face between his hands. “It’s okay Makka,” he cooed. “Is the big bad Yura being mean?”

    “This is why cats are better.”

    Viktor gives him a wounded look. “You have no concept of loyalty.” His gaze drifts towards Yuuri’s window, and he gives a cheery wave. “Hello!” Yuuri smiles, waving back. Viktor motions for him to come join them and with a start he pulls the curtain down, pretending not to notice the momentary look of hurt.

* * *

 [23:33] _yuuri_

[23:34] _yuuuuuuri_

[23:35] _hey yuuri_

[23:35] **_yes?_ **

[23:35] _i bet i can play humoresque without messing up first_

[22:36] **_it’s on._ **

* * *

     Yuuri’s finishing cleanup when his phone vibrates. He glances down to see a text from Viktor, smiling.

[23:50] _Yuuuuuuuri_

[23:50] **_what?_ ** He sets his plate in the dishwasher, heading in the general direction of his room.

[23:51] _i’m bored. tell me a story_

[23:51] **_about what?_ **

[23:51] _anything. something I don’t know about you_

[23:51] **_you don’t know lots of about me_ ** Yuuri feels compelled to point out. He nods in Seung-Gil’s direction as he passes the living room, the other man gracing him with a rare smile.

[23:51] _in that case think of all the stories i haven’t heard yet_ (⌒‿⌒)

     Yuuri frowns, biting his lip. He searches for something that will make him sound _somewhat_ interesting but he comes up blank. The best he can think of is of the Chris(mas) party from a few years ago.

[23:52] **_when phichit and i first moved in he convinced me to go to this CHRISmas party at Chris'. i was too shy to talk to anyone so i stood in the corner and drank. i don’t remember much but phichit still has pictures of me and chris stripping and pole dancing_ **

[23:57] _what did you say phichit’s number was?_

[23:58] **_he’s under oath_ **

[23:59] _but th_ _e best bedtime stories have pictures_ (((

[23:59] **_it’s your turn_ **

[23:59] _let me tell you about my first lover_

[00:00] _i was fourteen and we met at the symphony_

[00:00] **_stop! i don’t want to know_ **

[00:00] _have you had any past lovers yuuri?_

    He’s never been more thankful Viktor can’t see his expression.

[00:00] **_no comment_ **

[00:01] _have you ever been in a relationship?_

[00:01] **_no comment_ **

[00:02] _do you want to be in a relationship?_

[00:05]  _ **...**_

[00:05] **_goodnight viktor_ **

[00:02] _goodnight yuuri!_ (‘♡‿♡`)

* * *

 [08:17]  _how do you like your coffee?_

[08:17]  _ **black and two sugars you?**_

[08:17]  _two creams one sugar_

[08:18]  _ **why do you ask?**_

[08:18]  _just curious. i like knowing things about you_ ( ´ ♡ ⁾⁾⁾ )

 

And really, it should be illegal for Viktor to say things like that without warning.

* * *

      Sunday is the one day Phichit always takes off, no matter what. Yuuri makes him banana pancakes and they sit in the fort, trying not to spill syrup on the pillows. It's peaceful under here, dark and quiet enough that he can almost pretend it's just the two of them.

    “How long are we going to keep the fort up?” he asks.

    Phichit shrugs, chasing a bit of banana with his fork. “Why take it down?”

    Yuuri jumps as his phone buzzes, an incoming text from Viktor.

[18:23] _important question. do you have any pets?_

[18:24] **_i used to have a poodle, do you?_**

[18:24] _i have a poodle too! her name is makkachin_

    Viktor’s message is immediately followed by a selfie of him pulling a face and peace sign beside the poodle from earlier. Yuuri melts at the photo, saving it to his camera roll.

    “Who’re you texting?” Phichit asks, leaning in suggestively.

    He slams his phone down, wiping the smile off his face. “Nobody.”

    “Is ‘Nobody’ tall and Russian?”

    “...No.”

    “You’ve been a lot more solid lately,” Phichit notes. “Any particular reason?”

    Yuuri coughs, shifting his eyes around the room innocently. “I have no idea.” He supposes it’s _slightly_ interesting that everything feels more grounded since meeting Viktor, but it’s also been a year since the accident so maybe that would’ve happened anyway.

     “Are you happy?” Phichit asks. Yuuri raises an eyebrow, and he rolls his eyes. “Well, as happy as you can be being...you know.”

    He considers lying, but they know each other too well for that to work. “Sometimes. Are you?”

    “Yes.”

    Yuuri does a double take. “How?” He doesn’t mean for it to come across as quite so incredulous, but Phichit has a lot to be angry about.

    “I like my job, and I have you and Seung-Gil,” he says simply. He’s rather pointedly not looking at Yuuri, focusing instead on his empty plate. “When you find something that makes you happy you have to go for it, you know?”

    Yuuri shifts uncomfortably. They’re on the precipice of something, but of what he doesn’t know. Or maybe he’s just too afraid to find out. “I know,” he says quietly. “You're right."

* * *

[03:05] _yuuri_

[03:06] _yuuri help me_

[03:14] _help_

[03:14] **_what’s wrong?_ **

[03:15] _yura has a recital today and he wants me to come_

[03:15] **_and?_ **

[03:15] _i haven’t been to a recital since the accident_

[03:15] **_you should go_ **

[03:17] _to the concert?_

[03:17] **_if you want_ **

[03:27] _why?_

[03:30] **_you always talk about missing music and how you used to want to be a teacher. maybe this will remind you why_ **

[03:32] **_and you could still be a teacher right? i bet lots of people would want to be your student, and they’d be doing most of the playing so it wouldn’t strain your hands_ **

[04:30] **_i saw a picture of this kermit today and it reminded me of you_ **

[04:30] **_viktor?_ **

[05:00] **_i’m sorry if i overstepped, i’ll leave you alone_ **

[07:30] _you didn’t overstep. makka ran out of food_

[08:00] _i’ll think about it_

[10:31] **_what time is the concert?_ **

[10:31] _five, why?_

[12:00] _yuuri?_

* * *

     Yuuri stands outside of Viktor’s apartment.

    He already regrets everything.

    He tells himself the likelihood of Viktor even coming outside is astronomically low, which is the only way he's managed not to run away yet. He’s not sure why he ever thought this was a good idea, but miraculously he's still here. 

    It’s just, there’s something in the way Phichit talks about love or how Seung-Gil looks at him that makes him think maybe things could be different.

    He startles as the door opens, Viktor stepping outside. He’s dressed in a fitted charcoal suit, tan coat unbuttoned. He’s brighter up close, clearer than the videos but sadder looking, too. Yuuri starts towards him--for what reason he doesn’t know, but the pianist pushes past him without a second glance.

    “Viktor!” The word has barely left his mouth before Viktor slams the stairway door behind him. Yuuri stumbles back against the wall, hands shaking as he runs them through his hair. He’s always been invisible; to his coworkers, to Seung-Gil, he shouldn’t have expected Viktor to be any different.

    This is what he gets for trying.


	2. ii.

  **ii.**

     Viktor Nikiforov was not a man of superstition but if he was he would blame his life on shitty luck.

     Granted, from most people’s perspectives his luck was anything but bad. At twenty seven he was wealthy enough to retire in a small mansion and he wasn't wanting for anything. So maybe he hadn't seriously dated anyone in the last ten years and his hands were too damaged to play the piano, but at least he had a cute poodle and financial stability. Still, even millionaires got bored and there was nothing like a move to shake things up. After learning Yuri's next recital was in Detroit, Viktor decided that was going to be his new place of residence. Three days before their flights took off. But that was the upside of being rich, he could afford to do things like that. 

    Hence where he and Yuri were now, standing outside of his (hopefully) new apartment. The exterior was composed of dull, plain bricks stacked several stories high. The parking lot was filled with cars, the wail of siren echoing down the street. All in all, it was the very definition of underwhelming and for once that was a good thing. What hadn't been underwhelming was the man he'd seen upstairs, and part of him was hoping they'd end up neighbors and he'd have good excuse to introduce himself. 

     "I still don't see why you can't live at home," Yuri complained. "Yakov said he didn't care." For the past year the two of them and their teacher slash manager, Yakov, had lived in New York. Which, if Viktor was being honest was part of the reason he was ready to leave. 

     "It's nothing personal," he said lightly, ruffling Yuri's hair. "But you know there's nothing left in New York for me." The boy's expression soured, but before he could retaliate the landlord chose that moment to appear. 

     "You Viktor?" he asked. He had bright red hair and permanent frown lines, a folder tucked securely under his arm. "I'm Simon."

    “It’s nice to meet you,” Viktor said, offering his hand. "This is Yuri, a friend of mine."

    Simon accepted it with a grunt. “Yeah." He gestured over his shoulder, beckoning them up the stairs. “Your unit is the first on the left. You said you had some questions?”

    “I’m a pianist which means I have to practice everyday. Sometimes during later hours,” Viktor said, ignoring Yuri’s sharp look. “Is that going to be a problem?”

    “Not at all. The walls are fairly soundproof.”

    “Why’s it so cheap?” Yuri interjected. “Did someone get murdered or something?”

    Simon pursued his lips. “Truth be told you aren’t so far off. There was a tenant that died in an accident last year. It's been difficult to find renters ever since.”

    Yuri’s eyes bugged. “Was it this apartment? How did they die?” He turned towards Viktor. “You’re going to wake up someday with your spleen outside of your body!”

    Simon’s nostrils flared. “It was a different unit, and the apartment is  _not_ haunted.” He reached for the handle, leaning against the door as it popped open. Yuri looked as if he were about to open his mouth again, and Viktor gave him a warning glance, shaking his head. “The kitchen, dining, and living room are all connected, and the bed and bath are down the hall and to the left. The previous tenants left a couch if you want it”

    The apartment was definitely smaller than Viktor was used to, but maybe that was a good thing. He was looking for something different, after all. And if he happened to see the black haired man again, well, that was simply an added bonus.

     Yuri moved to stand beside him, dissatisfaction written across his face. “It’s so  _white._ ” He wasn’t wrong, the white walls were one thing but the starkly white ceiling and sofa were another. Viktor made a thoughtful sound, eyeing the room critically. If he added few pictures and the red throw pillows and corresponding carpet he thought would take care of most of the problem. And it was big enough to fit his piano.

    Simon was still frowning, and Viktor elbowed Yuri in the ribs. “It’s perfect,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

* * *

     Viktor was with Christophe Giacometti when he saw the man again. It was the first day of moving and he had accepted the offer of help without complaint. Earlier he’d tried to bribe Yuri into helping, but for some reason there hadn’t been any interest.

    He pushed the door open with his elbow, Makkachin trailing Chris up the stairs. Viktor started to follow, but something in the corner of his eye made him freeze. He tilted his head back, looking towards the window. The curtains fluttered as a shadow flickered; a glimpse of dark eyes and a blue jacket. He smiled, raising a hand in greeting. There was a flash of sunlight and he winced, shielding his eyes. When he glanced back the man had vanished.

    “Viktor?”

    He shook his head, turning his attention to Chris. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

    “What are you doing?”

    “I thought I saw someone upstairs."

    Chris frowned, following his line of sight. He shook his head. "I don't see anything,” he said. “And Phichit’s car isn’t here.” He nudged Viktor with his shoulder. “It was probably the sun. Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

* * *

     JJ’s apartment was so full of people Viktor was starting to feel claustrophobic. He’d agreed to come partly because his therapist had insisted he needed to get back out there, and mostly because Chris insisted all of the tenants were going to be there. He hadn’t seen the mystery man yet, but it was still early.

    “Theres's our host,” Chris said, pointing to the dark haired man across the room. His arm was linked with a beautiful, blue eyed haired woman’s. “And his fiance Isabella. Nice enough, if a little full of himself. And that’s coming from me.”

    “Who’s in the yellow jacket?” Viktor asked. Chris handed him a glass and he took a sip, making an appreciative sound. “Amazing!"

   “He does have good taste in drinks," Chris agreed. "That’s Leo De La Iglesia and the cutie on his left is Guang Hong Ji. The other cutie is Phichit Chulanont. He’s on top.” From anyone else the phrasing might seem like an accidental innuendo, but he was starting to learn that Chris never did anything unintentionally. Viktor’s head whipped in the man’s direction faster than he’d like to admit. He tried to ignore the way his heart sank. Phichit was indeed cute, but he didn’t look anything like the mystery man.

    “What, in the unit above mine?” Chris nodded. “Is he only one that lives there?”

     “Yes.”

     “Are you sure?”

     Chris’s lips twisted into an amused smile. “I’m pretty sure I know who my neighbors are. He has friends over sometimes, maybe that’s who you heard? Seung-Gil stops by a lot and he seems like he could match your description. Black hair, quiet. I think he’s here tonight, actually. You’re out of luck if you’re looking for a boyfriend, though. He’s had a thing with Phichit for awhile now.”

    “Maybe,” Viktor said, unconvinced. “Do either of them play the piano?”

    Chris frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.” He caught the eye of someone over his shoulder, giving him an apologetic smile. “Alas, my duties are never done. You should ask him. Phichit knows more people than anyone, except for me of course.”

     He disappeared into the crowd, and Viktor made his way towards Phichit. He waited until Leo and Guang Hong had finished their conversation before introducing himself. “Hello!” he said, flashing his best smile. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Viktor.”

     “Welcome to the neighborhood!" Phichit said, grinning. "I’m Phichit.”

     “Thank you! Makka and I are still trying to settle in, but we met someone a few days ago who really helped us settle us and I’d like to thank him.” He dropped a self-deprecating laugh. “Problem is I forgot to ask their name. I was told you’d be the best person to ask?” He justified lying to his new neighbor by arguing that technically, it wasn’t a complete lie. The pianist was the first real connection he’d made since the move.

     “Of course! What does he look like?”

     “Dark hair, brown eyes, blue jacket. Cute. I think he plays the piano.” Despite his better judgement, he added “I thought I saw them wave to me from the window in the unit over mine?”

      “Oh! Are you talking about Yuuri?” Phichit asked, brow furrowing. “Yeah, he’s visiting for a few months. I can pass on a message if you’d like?”

    Viktor grabbed a napkin and a pen from the nearby table, scribbling his number down and handing it over. “Tell him to call me sometime. And that he’s a talented pianist.”

    Phichit had an odd expression on his face, but he folded the note and put it in his pocket anyway. “How did you meet again?”

    “Sometime during moving,” Viktor said airily, waving a careless hand.

    “Huh. He hasn’t mentioned you.” The sentence was innocent enough, but there’s a gleam of curiosity. “I should tell you, Yuuri takes a long time to warm up to people.”

     “He seems nice,” Viktor offered. “Like a good friend.”

    “He is,” Phichit affirmed. “And he could use more of them.” His expression softened. “It was nice meeting you. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

     Viktor waved goodbye, scanning the crowd for Chris. A hand grabbed his arm and he jumped, barely refraining from having a heart attack. It was Jack Joseph, who promptly dragged him into a particularly titillating conversation about hockey. He resigned himself to small talk for the rest of the evening, but the night hadn’t been a complete waste. He had a name and Yuuri had his number. More had happened with less.

* * *

     Viktor really hadn’t wanted to go to the recital.

   He’d gone because it was Yura and Yuuri had urged him to, but the entire time all he could think about was how excited everyone seemed. He'd hidden in the bathroom for the second half, splashing cold water on his face and desperately ignoring the trembling in his hands. The mask had been reapplied in time to congratulate Yuri on his performance, but the boy had called Viktor out on disappearing and stormed off.

    And then Yuuri stopped writing to him.

    Viktor still couldn’t figure out what he’d done, but it had clearly been  _something_ because his texts were going unanswered and the piano was silent. Yuuri hadn’t even responded to his picture of Makkachin in a pair of reindeer ears. A couple of times he could’ve sworn he'd seen someone at the window and heard the faintest sound of piano, but both seemed to vanish as soon as he tried to get a better look.

    Finally he had to resort to Plan Z--cornering Phichit in the lobby on the other man’s way to work. He lingered by the door, putting his phone away as soon as the other man appeared and aiming for surprised nonchalance.

    “Hi Viktor,” Phichit said, customary smile in place. It seemed a little dimmer than usual, but maybe he was reading too far into things.

     “Hey.” Viktor tugged on his scarf, winding the tassels around his fingers until the skin turned white. “I was wondering if you um...if you’d heard anything? From Yuuri.” He cringed inwardly. Viktor Nikiforov did not stutter, and yet here he was.

     Phichit’s eyes widened minutely. “Yuuri? He’s visiting a family. Friend. A family friend.”

     “Is everything okay? I haven’t gotten a text in a few days.”

     “He must’ve forgotten to turn on his phone.” Phichit shook his head, eyes rolling. “How he hasn’t managed to get himself abducted by now is beyond me.”

     “Or killed.”

      He froze. “What?”

      Viktor frowned. Phichit looked like he was about to fall over. “I was trying to make a joke."

     “Right. Ha.” The man adjusted his grip on his camera, edging towards the door. “I have a shoot to get to, but I’ll tell Yuuri you called.”

     "Okay. Tell him--” The door banged shut mid-sentence, and Viktor’s words trailed off into silence. He stared after the other man’s retreating form, fingers tapping against his mouth. He reached for his phone, opening another text to Yuuri.

* * *

     "Hello?" Viktor stood outside of Phichit's apartment, fist raised for another knock. Yuuri still hadn't answered his messages, and combined with Phichit's uneasy behavior he just wanted to make sure everything was okay. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, really wrong, and after this long he'd learned to trust his gut. 

     He knocked again and the door swung open under his touch, the wind blowing it back hard enough to slam against the bookshelf. He hesitated, arm dropping to his side. He gripped the edge of the doorframe, leaning slightly into the apartment. The couch was torn apart, an impressive looking fort in place instead. The layout was almost identical to his unit, except it seemed more lived in. Boxes were half unpacked, posters of various television shows framed on the walls. A half eaten piece of toast was sitting on the counter, a cup of coffee with the steam still rising suggesting whoever it belonged to was still there.

      "Hello?" he called. "Phichit?" There was no response. "Yuuri?"

      The picture frame above the door crashed to the floor. Viktor jerked backwards, tripping over the carpet and landing on his arm. Pain flared and he closed his eyes, firmly reminding himself that there was nothing to be scared of. It was just a little windy, and despite Yuri's teasing the building wasn't haunted. His heartbeat had just started to slow when the door slammed shut, lock clicking into place. Viktor scrambled to his feet, backing towards the exit.

      When he tells Yuri the story later, he'll vehemently deny falling down the stairs in his haste to get away.

* * *

     Viktor was pretty sure he was going crazy.

    The list in front of him was only further confirmation. It was divided into two sections:  _Reasons why Yuuri’s a ghost_ and  _Reasons why Yuuri isn’t a ghost._

 

 _Reasons why Yuuri’s a ghost_ :

_No one else can see him_

_Phichit’s acting weird_

_Yuuri never leaves the apartment_

_Someone was in the apartment ( ~~invisible??~~ )_

_He’s never sent me a picture_

_Someone died last year_

_No one else can see him_

 

_Reasons why Yuuri isn’t a ghost:_

_Ghosts aren’t real_

 

     Viktor closed out of Google Docs and navigated to search. He clenched and unclenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as he began to type.

      _Katsuki Yuuri obi_

    He exhaled, slamming the computer shut. This was crazy even for him. There was no way--no fucking way that Yuuri was a ghost. Just because he couldn’t think of any other way to explain the first list didn’t mean there weren’t any rational explanations. Maybe Phichit was telling the truth and all the other times had just been his imagination.

    But if there  _was_  something else going on he had to know, no matter how slim the possibility. There wasn’t anyone else around, he reasoned. One search wasn’t going to hurt anything.

    He opened the computer again, running a hand through his hair. Before he could change his mind he opened a new window and searched for  _Katsuki Yuuri obituary_. There were 895,000 results.

     Viktor leaned back in his seat, refining his search for  _Katsuki Yuuri obituary 2017_ , clicking the first one. A picture of a black haired man with a serious expression and blue rimmed glasses loaded at the top of the page, random statistics like his birthplace (Japan) and cause of death (brain trauma) listed below. He continued reading, eyes flickering back and forth in increasing amounts of shock and surprise. The more he read the more convinced he became that his crazy theory might not be so crazy after all.

    Katsuki Yuuri was born November 29th in Hasetsu, Japan to Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki. He died twenty three years later in Detroit and is survived by his parents and older sister. Before his death he studied dance and had a poodle named Vicchan, also deceased.

    Maybe it was all a coincidence.

    Maybe Yuuri was just a popular name that year, because he was sure dance was a popular major and everyone loved poodles didn’t they? Especially poodles named Vicchan. And maybe VIktor was definitely going insane.

    Simon’s number was ringing before he could remember dialing, thoughts sent into a tailspin of panic.

    “What do you want?” Simon grunted. “Look if this is about the heating--”

    Viktor wet his lips. “Katsuki Yuuri.”

    A moment of silence, followed by an incredulous“What?”

    He took a deep breath, voice recovering as he continued. “Is that the name of the tenant that died?”

     Simon sighed, something rustling in the background. “I can’t believe this. You called me at  _three in the morning_ to talk about  _Katsuki Yuuri_.”

     “Was it?” Viktor demanded, undeterred.

     “Yeah. Yeah, he lived with that boy upstairs--Phichit Chulanont.”

    The phone clattered to the ground. Viktor reached for it with shaking hands, placing it on speaker.  “How did he die?”

     Simon’s voice was sharp. “I’m not really in the mood for gossiping about my dead tenant. Look it up.”

     “I did. It didn’t say.”

     “If I tell you will you leave me alone?”

      “Deal.”

     The landlord sighed. “There was another one of those parties Chris liked to throw. As long as the mess was picked up and they kept it down I didn’t care. Anyway, I guess Yuuri got really drunk that night because he...Jesus. He fell off the roof. All fifteen floors. Headfirst.”

    Viktor choked. “How does someone fall off a roof?”

    “Eleven flutes of champagne and three rounds of shots. How does someone not?” Simon grunted. “If you call me again I’ll evict you.” The line clicked dead, silence shrouding the apartment  

    Viktor tipped his head back and laughed.

    He laughed until he cried and then he was laughing again, because fuck if this wasn’t a perfect example of how nothing ever went right in his life. Because everything had a catch, but when it came to his life there was never any upside.

* * *

  _Reasons why Yuuri’s a ghost_ :

_No one else can see him_

_Phichit’s acting weird_

_Yuuri never leaves the apartment_

_He’s never even shown me a picture_

_Someone died last year_

_No one else can see him_

_His obituary matches_

_He has the same name as Phichit’s “cousin”_

 

_Reasons why Yuuri isn’t a ghost:_

~~_Ghosts aren’t real_ ~~

* * *

     Viktor had always believed things made more sense with plans and this was his:

  1. Confront Yuuri
  2. Make sure he was really a ghost
  3. Try not to have another nervous breakdown.



    It seemed like a fairly sold plan--the only issue was follow through. 

    Viktor could accept that sometimes shitty things happened and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. He was fine with that, had even accepted he was simply one of those people. But between the emptiness, his injury, and now Yuuri being a ghost, he couldn’t help but think that past Viktor must have fucked up in a big way to deserve this. Even for him this luck was pretty shitty.

* * *

     He put the plan into action the following Tuesday.

    After ensuring that Phichit was safely at work he returned to the apartment, resolve firm. He rapped on the door. No answer.

     He tried again. "Yuuri!" The door remained stubbornly closed. He banged on the door, louder this time. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me!” JJ gave him a weird look as he passed, but Viktor ignored him. “Yuuri!” There was sigh of wind, and the door swung open. He entered cautiously, the door locking behind him. “Hello?”

     The apartment was just as abandoned as it had been last time, the fort cleaned up and couch returned to its natural state. He moved further into the living room, scanning for any sign of movement. Something flickered in the corner of his vision, a blinding flash of light. He recoiled, sunspots dancing behind his eyelids. 

     When he opened his eyes a man was standing in front of the window. Viktor's breath caught in his throat. Mournful, brown eyes blinked past the dark lashes. His posture was perfect, hair messy in a way that was clearly unintentional and impossibly endearing. Somehow Yuuri was even more attractive up close. If he weren't dead Viktor would be inclined to think this must be what love at first sight was like.

    “Yuuri!” he greeted, a painfully artificial grin plastering itself on his face. He stepped towards him, trying not to wince when Yuuri flinched away. “You haven’t been answering my texts.”

    The other man’s face was bright red. “Um. Phichit said. Sorry?”

    “I thought I'd done something wrong." On the way up all Viktor could think about was everything he wanted to say. Now though, every flirty comment and poorly thought out accusation had vanished.

     Yuuri shook his head, cheeks flushing adorably. "No."

     "Okay." Viktor shuffled awkwardly, clearing his throat. He waited for a moment of panic that never arrived. In a way it was more reliving than anything, because he'd always known there was something different about Yuuri. Now everything was just in the open. "Good." Yuuri's eyes dropped to the floor, face turning pinker by the second. Viktor searched his brain for something,  _anything_  to say, but all he could think was “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

    Yuuri's head lifted, smiling slightly. Viktor's heart stuttered. “For some reason I couldn’t find a way to casually bring it up.”

    “I wouldn’t have cared--I don’t care."

    “But would you have believed me?”

    Viktor’s hand drifted towards his wrist. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit lately." He tried to meet Yuuri's eyes, but he was still avoiding his glance. "I don't care, Yuuri," he said gently. "I promise."

     "I'm sorry," Yuuri mumbled. He was visibly distraught, hunched in on himself like he was trying to disappear. "I didn't want to lie."

     "Technically," Viktor started before he could consider if it was wise or not. "You didn't  _lie._ "

     "It was close enough." Yuuri looked at him suspiciously. "How  _did_  you find out? The only other person who knows is Phichit."

      "I figured it out, mostly. I saw you in the window, and after playing the piano together I wanted to know more about you." If he had it his way Viktor wanted to know everything, but he decided telling him that might seem a bit strong for a first meeting. 

      Yuuri bit his lip, words rushing forward suddenly. "If that's true then why didn't you say hello?"

     "When?"

      "The night of the concert. And last week when you first came to the apartment."

     Viktor frowned. "I didn't know you were there." Yuuri still looked unconvinced, and he continued. "I would've said something if I'd seen you."

     "You couldn't see me?" He shook his head, and Yuuri huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "I waited outside for  _hours_ , and both times I thought you were just ignoring me."

     "How could I ever ignore you?"

     Yuuri shot him an incredulous look. "You wouldn't be the first person." He made a dismissive gesture. "Not that I blame them." He faltered. "That was part of why I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to see my shortcomings."

     Some part of Viktor physically hurt at the knowledge that enough people had managed to overlook him that Yuuri would believe he was anything less than extraordinary. "You could never be invisible to me. And all I see is a friend."

     Yuuri smiled, soft and intimate and Viktor promised himself that from there on out that he would do everything he could to prove him otherwise. For someone that was dead, Yuuri seemed incredibly alive.

* * *

      Viktor was sitting in the lobby of the apartment, engrossed in his book. His ride to therapy was due to arrive soon, and the lobby was a quiet change of scenery from the white of his apartment. He looked up in time to see Phichit's coffee cup slam on the table, smile the perfect combination of friendly and threatening. He swallowed, slowing setting his book down.

     "So, I heard you finally met Yuuri,." The ease of his words was a far cry from his tone, and while scary might not be a word that described Phichit protective certainly was.

     "I did," he said slowly. 

     "Do you remember when I told you Yuuri took a long time to warm up to people?" Viktor nodded. "He's been through a lot. If he's opened up to you he really trusts you." 

     "Why did you give him my number?" 

     "I don't know why but I trust you, too. And I meant what I said--Yuuri could use a friend." Phichit hesitated. "He's been more...solid, since he met you. Happier."

     Something feels warm in his chest, a smile rising unbidden. "Me too," he said honestly. The man's gaze met his unblinkingly, staring him down thoughtfully. Whatever he saw must have met his approval, because he gave a more genuine smile, pushing the cup towards Viktor. 

     "Two cream and one sugar," he said. "Yuuri thought you might enjoy it."

* * *

[16:20]  _thank you for the coffee! it was just the way i like it too_  ( ' ♡ ' )

[16:21]  _ **you're welcome**_

[16:25]  _ **are you doing anything today?**_

* * *

    Yuuri's apartment was infinitely nicer than Viktor's, mostly because it was Yuuri's. 

     They were laying on Yuuri’s bed, Viktor staring at the ceiling with interest. It wasn’t everyday you got to see another view of your house. There shouldn't be any room for discomfort in the quiet intimacy of the room, but he could see it in the rigidness of Yuuri’s spine. He reached out carefully, and it hurt slightly less this time when Yuuri moved away.

    “Have you ever tried to move on?” Viktor asked. He’d been informed by a publicist once, years ago, that he was too straight forward, but he preferred to think of it as another one of his charms  

    Yuuri looked like he was considering fleeing. “Um. Once.”

    “What happened?” 

    "It didn’t work and the longer I tried the more I faded."

     "Faded?"

    Yuuri nodded. "When I first became...you know, I was completely invisible. I could move things but nothing I said made any sound and no one could see me. Eventually I started to take a corporeal form but I didn’t have any control over it, and it happened randomly. For some reason moving on sent me back to the beginning, and I haven’t tried again.”

     Viktor tried to imagine it—really imagine it. He’d spend most of his life in the spotlight of some kind, and he found that he couldn’t imagine what it was like to be invisible and have everything you said be a whisper. “How did Phichit know?”

     Yuuri smiled fondly. “It took a few attempts, but I knocked enough things over and managed to spell his cereal into my name that he got the idea. It was easier after I could become corporeal, but I’m just lucky he believed me.” 

     “Would you ever try moving on again?” Viktor asked. He couldn’t figure out why he was so stuck on this, but in his defense it wasn’t everyday you met a ghost.

     “Maybe,” Yuuri said after a brief pause. “If I knew what went wrong the first time so I could fix it.”

     Viktor was struck with a genius idea. “I’ll help!”

     Yuuri looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Sorry?”

      “I’ll help you figure it out if you want. Maybe an objective opinion will help.” What Viktor didn’t mention was that he was far from objective, but Yuuri didn’t point it out either.

      “Okay,” he agreed. “But I don’t know if anything can fix it.” 

      “Anything can be fixed,” Viktor said, pointedly ignoring his hands and his life, two things that were long beyond repair. His eyes land on Yuuri’s nightstand, and more specifically the blue rimmed pair of glasses. “Are those yours?”

     “They used to be. Perks of being dead, my vision is perfect and I don’t look like the moment I died.” 

     “Can I try them on?” Yuuri nodded and Viktor slipped them on, making a face. “You were really blind.”

     “It almost makes it worth not breathing.” 

      Viktor removed them carefully, studying the frames. The ends looked like someone had chewed on them and he held them beside Yuuri’s face, trying to picture them on. “Can I keep them? For science.” Immediately he wondered what had possessed him to ask something so creepy, but Yuuri didn’t look too disturbed albeit a bit confused. 

      “I guess? If you really want.”

      Viktor slipped them into his pocket, being careful not to squish them as he rolled over. If everything went to plan Yuuri would be gone soon, and maybe glasses were a weird momento but at least they were something.

* * *

     Yuri stirred his coffee, eyeing him warily over the top of the cup. “So is this like a necrophilia thing?”

    Viktor winced. His tone was far too loud for a cafe, and the old woman to their right inched further towards the door. “ _No._ It’s not a necrophilia thing.”

    Yuri raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you have the hots for a dead person, and that doesn’t sound like necrophilia to you?’

   “He’s not dead!” His mouth snapped shut. “Okay, so maybe he’s a little dead but he’s a ghost. It’s different.”

    Yuri rolled his eyes to the ceiling with all the dramatics of a fifteen year old. Viktor thought it was rather uncharitable, really, considering all the times he’d rolled out of bed at six in the morning to help him find Potya. “Sure Viktor. Hey, Yakov was wondering if you’d talked to your therapist lately.”

    “I’m not crazy either!” The old woman fled, napkin dropping on the ground in her haste. Viktor slumped back in his seat with a groan. “At least, I don’t think I am?”

    “If you think there’s something going on,” Yuri inhaled, nostrils flaring. The words looked physically painful to get out. “I believe you.”

    It was a bit ridiculous, but Yuri’s words made something lift off Viktor’s chest he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone. Not that he would ever tell him. “You should meet him. His name’s Yuuri too.”

    The boy’s nose scrunched up. “That’s stupid,” he muttered, arms crossing petulantly. He eyed Viktor warily. “And you said he plays the piano?”

    Viktor smiled, patting the teenager’s arm amidst his complaints that he’d have to burn this hoodie now. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be my favorite Yuri.”

    He scowled. “Whatever. I don’t care.” Despite his protests his posture relaxed, arms uncrossing.

     "You know, you don't have to stay here," Viktor said. "Your concert's over and I'm sure Yakov wouldn't mind having you home."

     Yuri's head whipped up, irritation sparked. "What, and leave you here?" He jabbed a finger in his direction. "Besides, you promised you'd teach me, or have you forgotten  _that_  too?"

     Viktor cringed, reply faltering. "Yuri--"

     The teenager stabbed his pie, expression dark. "Forget it," he snapped. 

     "It's not--"

     "I said  _forget it_ , Viktor!" Viktor closed his mouth. They finished the rest of their food in silence.

* * *

     His meetings with Yuuri had quickly became a daily occurrence, alternating between the two apartments. They were in Viktor’s today, Yuuri laying on the couch and Viktor on the floor pretending he wasn’t staring at his profile. Makkachin was laying on the couch at Yuuri’s feet, and if there was ever a moment Viktor wanted to save and revisit it was this one. 

    “Do you miss being a pianist?” Yuuri asked.

     “Sometimes,” Viktor said softly. There was always going to be a part of him that missed the euphoria of being on stage; the quiet confidence once the nerves had disappeared and he had fallen into the rhythms of a piece. “Do you miss your job?”

    Yuuri snorted. “Scooping ice cream? Not really.”

    “What would you have liked to do?”

    “I studied dance. We were going to move to New York before...you know.”

    “I spent a year in New York.” Viktor lapsed into silence, worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “I wouldn’t go back.”

    “Why not?”

    It was an innocent enough question, but part of Viktor cringed away from even thinking about anything remotely related to New York. “I had my last concert there,” he settled on finally. “I’ve moved around a lot but I wanted to spend some time in one place for once.”

   “Why did you leave?” Yuuri asked. Normally, that wasn’t a story he’d tell even while drunk, but there wasn’t any prying curiosity in the man’s voice and Viktor knew Yuuri would back off if he declared the topic off limits.

     “I guessed you’ve noticed my playing isn’t very good?” he asked, a wry smile curling his lips. “Or at least, not on the same level or consistency as a professional?” Yuuri nodded hesitantly. “I was in an accident and my hands were injured the worst. The nerves were too damaged to heal properly, and after that I haven’t been able to play. At least, not the same way.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “It's in the past." 

     “Still.” For once, there wasn’t any sympathy in Yuuri’s expression. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve lost everything you care about.” 

     “Oh?” 

     “It’s stupid and not nearly on the same level, but I haven’t been home in years and my dog, Vicchan, was hit by a car.”

     “I’m sorry,” Viktor echoed. He wished there was something better to say, but he hoped Yuuri could hear the sincerity in his voice. 

     Yuuri blinked rapidly, words subdued. “I can’t help but think what might have happened if I had been there, you know? Even if he still would’ve died at least I would’ve  _been there_ instead of on the other side of the world hiding from my family because I couldn’t face them until I’d proven I was good enough to be a danseur.” He sniffed, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. “And now I never will. Sorry, I know it’s stupid.”

     “It’s not stupid,” Viktor said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like if Makka died, especially if I couldn’t be there.” He offered a small smile which Yuuri tentatively returned. “Just because someone’s problems might objectively be bigger or different that doesn’t make them less important.” He paused. “And you’re stuck as a ghost, which is enough to earn you the biggest problem award for the next century.” 

      Yuuri laughed, brown eyes crinkling and head resting against the arm rest. Viktor couldn’t help but laugh with him, and Makkachin came to long enough to wag her tail. Maybe this wasn’t the way he’d imagined things being, but right now he wouldn’t change them for the world. 

* * *

 [09:37]  _yuri wants to meet you is that okay?_

[09:38]  ** _of course_**

[09:38]  _are you sure? i don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to. we’ll understand either way_

[09:39]  ** _i appreciate it viktor but i’m sure_**

[09:39]  _okay_ _( ´ ▽ ` )_

* * *

     “Yuuri!” Viktor propped the door open with his elbow, Yuri stomping through with his trademark scowl. “I brought someone that wants to say hi.”

    Yuri’s frown deepened, if such a thing were possible. “Fuck you old man,” he grumbled. “I don’t care, I’m only here because I was promised free food.”

    Viktor suppressed a smile. It only widened when Yuuri materialized in front of them, fidgeting nervously. “Miss me?” Yuuri’s mouth curved into a smile, but before he could reply Yuri interjected.

    “What’s it like being a ghost?” the boy’s eyes were the size of saucers, bouncing eagerly on the balls of his feet. “Can you walk through walls? Can you move shit with your mind? Is it true that cats can see you?”

    Yuuri laughed, quiet and warm. “I can walk through walls, but I don’t have telekinesis. I haven’t been around a cat since I died, but Makkachin and Phichit’s hamsters can’t see me.”

     Yuri rolled his eyes. “Duh, of course they can’t. Dogs and hamsters are stupid.”

    “I’m telling Makka you said that,” Viktor pouted.

    Yuri ignored him. “Cats are smarter.”

    “Of course,” Yuuri agreed. His eyes met Viktor’s over the top of Yuri’s head, a spark of fondness in them that had nothing to do with the way his heart momentarily stopped breathing.

    “You’d like Potya,” Yuri said confidently.

    “You should bring her next time,” Yuuri said.

    “For one of Viktor’s friends you’re not  _that_ lame I guess,” Yuri muttered. “How come you can sit and stuff?”

    Yuuri shrugged. “Honestly? There’s a lot about being a ghost that I’m still learning. I couldn’t maintain a corporeal form on command until recently. I think it’s more like I’m floating than actually sitting?” His gaze darted towards Viktor’s with one of his shy grins, but Viktor was still stuck on  _next time._ Not only did they get along, but Yuuri wanted-- _hoped_ there would be a next time. He returned the smile with one he was sure was just as sappy, and not even Yuri’s exaggerated gagging could ruin his mood.

* * *

     Viktor opened his door to see Yuuri standing on the other side, visibly distraught. Without saying anything he ushered him inside and locked the door, leading him towards his room  

     “Is everything okay?” he asked. They’d been playing the piano until Yuuri had stopped suddenly, phone buzzing a moment later asking if he could come up.

     Yuuri collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes, lashes dark against his skin. “Bad day,” he said quietly. 

     “Tell me what I can do to help?” Viktor asked. Comforting people was...emotions in general have never been his strong suit and it was worse because Yuuri was all glass hearts ready to be shattered. 

     “You don’t have to do or say anything,” Yuuri said, with a sudden surge of passion that seemed to take him by as much surprise. “Just stay close to me.” 

     Viktor reached for his hand, only to grab air instead. He pulled away, biting his lip until he tasted blood. His eyes were stinging, which was ridiculous, really, because Yuuri was a  _ghost._ What did he think was going to happen?

    “I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispered. His form flickered a few times before stabilizing, though his edges still looked blurrier than usual.

    “It’s not your fault.” Viktor swallowed, trying for a smile.

    “If it makes you feel any better,” Yuuri said quietly. “I wish I could hold your hand, too.”

    Viktor laughed, the sound falling flat even to him. “It doesn’t, really.”

    “Me neither.”

    “ _I’m_ sorry,” Viktor said after a moment’s hesitation. “I didn’t think.” Yuuri jerked his shoulders into a shrug, leaning his head against the wall. Viktor settled beside him, watching him out of the corner of his eye. His chest hurt, and his fingers itched to pull him closer, but that was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. It figured that the first time he’d finally found someone that gave him back life and love they were a ghost. It wasn’t even the lack of ability to have sex that bothered him--because while Yuui was eros incarnate it was the smaller gestures like holding his hand or pulling him into a hug that were now impossible.

    “What are we doing?” Yuuri asked.

    “Sitting on the floor?”

    “No, I mean it Viktor.” He sighed, eyes dropping to the floor in a manner that could only be described as defeatist.

    “I don’t know,” Viktor answered honestly. “I just know my life is a lot better with you in it.”

    “I can’t give you a normal life,” Yuuri said, hands curling into fists at his side. “I can’t--I can’t take you on dates and kiss you goodnight. I can’t do any of the things normal people do.”

    “And?”

    “ _And_ that doesn’t bother you?”

    Viktor thought about it. A year ago he’d been preparing for another concert, and even Yuri had commented on his lack of enthusiasm. His performance was flawless as usual, but as the curtain fell and he prepared for another show the next day he wondered if this was all there was. Sleep, play, sleep, play. The accident hadn’t made things any easier, because even if his routine was monotonous at least he’d known who he was. Viktor Nikiforov the pianist wasn’t much without the piano. Yuuri was the first person in years who’d cared about him just for being _Viktor,_ and it was almost pathetic how relieving that was.

    “No, not really,” he said finally. “Does it bother you?”

    Yuuri shook his head, lips pressed together in a smile. He was starting to solidify more, but his legs shimmered as he stretched them out in front. “No.”

     “We’re a pair. The ghost who thinks he's alive and the man who wishes he were dead.” He hoped he hadn’t overstepped any lines, and by the way Yuuri laughed he assumed he was safe. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

     “Why aren’t you a piano teacher?”

     Viktor blinked. “What?”

     “You said your hands are too damaged to play professionally but you can play short pieces and it’s not like you’ve forgotten how music theory works,” Yuuri continued, oblivious to Viktor’s confusion. “You said you used to think about it and it’s a way to still play. So why not?”  

      Viktor exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. Becoming a teacher was something he actively avoided thinking about, although Yuri and Yakov were always asking him about his plans (or lack thereof). “I’m afraid,” he admitted. “I’m afraid that no one will want to learn from me, and that I won’t be any good. Or that I’ll hate it and I‘ll be back where I am now but without even the potential of a job.”

     “I was thinking about what you said; why I haven’t tried to move on again,” Yuuri said. “It’s more than fading, I’m scared of what comes next. Of finding out, and of everything I’m leaving behind.”

     “I think you have to leave things behind sometimes to find something even better,” Viktor mused. Yuuri have him a pointed look, and he realized he’d played himself. “Fair enough.”

     “Is there anyone that you could take on as a first student?” Yuuri asked. “Someone you know you will practice and that you feel comfortable with?” 

     Viktor's lips quirked upwards. “I can think of somebody.” He inhaled, glancing at the other man. “I’ll try if you do.” 

     Yuuri nodded. “Deal.”

     Neither of them commented on the fact that if Yuuri held up his end of the bargain this would be one of the last times they’d see each other. 

* * *

     Viktor fiddled with the phone charger as it rang, going to voicemail. Unusual, given that Yuri almost always had his phone on him. “Hey Yura. I was wondering if you’re still interested in taking lessons?” He paused. If he was bad with feelings Yuri was constipated, but he’d promised Yuuri he’d try. 

     “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I didn’t forget, but I didn’t do anything about it either. I’m trying to do better, though. It’s okay if you changed your mind, but I'd love to teach you if you're still interested.” He ended the call, already bracing himself for Yuri’s grudging answer and retort of where to shove his apologies. 

     Viktor slid his phone to silent, deciding keeping his sanity intact was outside the realm of feelings. 

* * *

[16:17]  _yura agreed to be my first student!_ (＾▽＾)

[16:17]  _ **that's amazing!! are you excited?**_

[16:17]  _i think so. mostly nervous_

[16:17] _which sounds weird to say because i used to play for thousands of people a night_

[16:18]  _ **even the great viktor nikiforov is allowed to be nervous sometimes, especially when your new job involves a teenager**_

[16:18]  _i guess you're right. coffee?_

[16:19]  _ **i'll be right there**_

* * *

     Yuuri left on a Friday.

     He met Viktor in his apartment after saying goodbye to Phichit, subdued but filled with a kind of quiet resolve. He stood in the middle of the room, facing Viktor.

     “Did you figure out what went wrong?” Viktor asked. 

    “I think for a long time I was just too scared to try again. Then...” Yuuri took a deep breath, melancholy smile gracing his features. “Then I didn’t want to leave you. But now that I know what love is I’m stronger for it.”

    “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Viktor said before he could stop himself.

    “Me too.” 

   “Promise me something?” Yuuri nodded. Viktor swallowed. His eyes were stinging, smile cracking. But then he’d never been good at lying to Yuuri. “Whatever happens next, promise you won’t let me stop you from moving on?”

   “I promise.” Yuuri’s expression was serious, brown eyes sparkling the way they always did when he was deep in thought. “Promise you won’t either?”

   “I promise. I’ll see you soon.” Viktor tried for a laugh. “But hopefully not too soon.” Yuuri did laugh at that, and even now it still made something fall into place Viktor hadn’t even known was missing.  

     Yuuri’s voice softened, cheeks flushing as he leaned closer to catch his next words. “I love you,” he said in a rush, effectively stopping Viktor’s heart. “I thought you should know. I could search the whole world—nobody is better than you.”

     “I love you too,” Viktor said wonderingly. Four words, and everything felt  _right_. Because of course he loved Yuuri, and after everything it turned out that was the simplest part. 

    Yuuri reached for his cheek, touch wistful and lingering. His smile was beautiful, and Viktor felt his heart shatter. “Goodbye Viktor.”

* * *

 [03:47] _i wish you were here_

* * *

    Viktor climbed the stairs, trainers clanking against the metal of the ladder. He pulled himself onto the roof, exhaling through dried lips. One visit, and then he could move on. For good.

    The roof was abandoned, dilapidated gardens ashen and gray. A five meter fence bordered the perimeter, the growing rust suggesting it had been there for years. Just to make sure, Viktor pressed his full weight against it. It barely budged.

    He pulled Yuuri’s glasses out of his pocket, hooking them through one of the links. A siren drove by on the street below, the coolness of the breeze hinting at the first snowfall of the season. His phone vibrated in his pocket—Phichit and Seung-Gil asking him and Chris out for drinks, and he answered with a yes. 

     A sudden gust of wind blew past him, slowing just enough to brush his cheek like a caress. Viktor smiled, fingers steady as he brushed the frames of the glasses in a final kiss. 

     He spared one last glance before heading downstairs for his first lesson.

* * *

_your hands, your legs_

_my hands, my legs_

_and our heartbeats are blending together._

_let’s leave together_

_i’m ready now._


End file.
